


Stone Cold Day

by Filigranka



Category: Star Wars: Phasma - Delilah S. Dawson
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, I hate tagging. hate tagging you have no idea how much, M/M, Mentions of Past Underage Prostitution, Present Tense, Rape, Stream of Consciousness, Swearing, how damn it I'm supposed to tag it, it's mine so of course it has a lot of the psychology and almost 0 porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:37:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka
Summary: Cardinal has been doing so well: getting properly re-socialised, working as a mercenary, acquiring the new found family... Trust Armitage to destroy it all.





	Stone Cold Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TobermorianSass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobermorianSass/gifts).



 

For a one blissful second Cardinal doesn’t understand what’s happening. He’s sitting in his armchair, checking the news on his pad, and then suddenly—what?

In the next few seconds he gets _what_ s and _who_ s: there’s the smell of cologne, the rough, bitten-too-many-times lips on his neck, hands pushing his arms to the chair’s backrest, the flicker of goldish red in his vision. Still, for a another happy half-a-moment, he doesn’t quite understand why the gen—Armitage would be kissing him.

Then the realisation hits. Yesterday’s argument. Vi being absolutely right and absolutely foolish in saying so. Cardinal himself unable to choose a side, as usual when the remnants of his programming kicked in. The general (Armitage, Armitage, or Hux, just not “the general”) being furious and yet completely powerless, because Vi and Siv didn’t _give a damn_. Siv triumphantly, viciously even, Vi calmly, collected and reasonable in that nonchalant manner of hers.

Cardinal’s eyes dart to the dining room’s doorframe and, sure, Vi’s standing there again, Vi’s standing there _now_.

He should push this treacherous rat away; he wishes he would have pushed him away or had just left him to his fate these few weeks ago when he found him in tender care of the bounty hunters, but he’s frozen, unable to use any violence against his commander.

He escaped (“No,” repeated Vi, time and time again, through their shared years, so: he was basically sentenced to death by this damn brat). He spent years on this planet (being broken and forced to look at his own parts, his own schematics, and asked time and time again, “But why, why, why, how can you explain?”) healing, gaining the trust of Vi and Siv, acquiring Torbi’s childish, big-eyed love—like it was really Vi and _him_ who rescued her—rejecting and deconstructing himself, rejecting _Brendol_ and his training (“his indoctrination”). And so many of the Order’s habits are behind him now, finally. He has been doing so well, he can sometimes dream he’s…

But he can’t push Armitage back when he nuzzles against his neck and shoulder blade; he can’t protest when Armitage leaves a wet trail along his carotid artery. Spoiled brat is putting on such a cheap show. Just like his speeches. Cardinal actually thinks it. An important step, says Vi’s voice in his mind, monotonous and worn out like a recording played a billion times. An important step. You’re doing well.

Vi might say so, if she wasn’t standing at the door, all lines of her face hard, sharp, closed. Cardinal knows her well enough to read the pain beneath them.

He has had no idea he matters so much to her. He hasn’t dared to dream it.

And yet Armitage somewhat discovers it after only a few weeks under their roof. He slides on Cardinal’s lap now, not even bothering to hide his triumphant smirk. His fingers play along Cardinal’s jaw, follow the line of his cheekbones, smooth the wrinkles in the corner of his eye. He glares at Vi openly and smiles—Cardinal sees only a part of his profile, but he can imagine the rest, the exact position of Armitage’s curled lips, the way his trachea moves when he swallows and says, “Open your mouth,” in his military tone, and Cardinal obeys without really meaning to.

The general’s fingers don’t taste like anything except soap. It doesn’t matter. They all use the same one. Vi’s fingers taste the same. Cardinal’s own, too.

‘What would my father say?’ Armitage whispers into his ear, before licking it.

Vi really should go. Armitage will get bored without the audience, it’ll end before—before something worse happens. But Cardinal isn’t going to fault her for staying.

He hasn’t dared to wish to matter to her so much. Ha. He should be better at the not wishing part.

Hux starts to cant his hips, slowly, rhythmically, more for show than real friction.

‘That’s enough,’ Cardinal tries weakly, turning his face away, when Armitage’s lips search for his own. Fingers, still in his mouth, scrape the inner side of his cheek. ‘I don’t want—’

This rotten bastard actually laughs. ‘Noted, soldier.’ He’s still laughing, forcing—Cardinal would like to call it “forcing”, but there’s just the slightest bit of pressure—Cardinal’s mouth open. ‘Your treacherous, egoistical concerns are noted.’ He just nibbles at Cardinal’s lower lip and stops. ‘Ah. But I am acting egoistic, too, am I not?’

The dramatics of a public speech in his tone. His head turned, so he can face Vi and look straight into eyes.

Fuckfuckfuck—just no.

‘And I offend our gracious host. Unacceptable.’ He draws his hand to her, fingers glistening from Cardinal’s saliva. ‘I’ve spent my life in the military. I know how to share.’

And fuck, Cardinal loves her so much, so much, but—his fucking training—if she tries to hurt, threatens _the general_ —he can picture Hux’s smile—if Vi can’t stand this anymore—he doesn’t want to hurt—her, not her, not anymore—but damn, he doesn’t want any of this, and yet…

He might plead if he thought it would make a difference. Red hair blocks his view of Vi. He turns his head slightly—

‘Look at me.’ Fuck his training, but he does, he does. He doesn’t see Vi anymore, but he feels how hard Armitage’s become.

All right, Cardinal may plead anyway.

It must appear on his face. Or perhaps Vi has got a grip on herself.

‘You gracious host is hungry and would like to make some tea and warm up dinner.’ She sounds almost normal. ‘Torbi’s coming back soon. She will need a clear table and silence in the room to do her homework.’

The general’s rage is palpable in the air. For a moment, Cardinal’s afraid Vi’s overdone this.

But while a human Torbi’s age wouldn’t be considered a kid in the First Order, Vi and Siv, wanting to invest in her future, pay for her education above the primary level. “Educated by mad droids on a forgotten planet” wouldn’t look good on her future resume. So, Torbi’s still a student, a “non-adult” in Hux’s eyes. And he always has been _a little_ less horrible to children. Torbi, he even helps with math and physics.

So eventually, Armitage relaxes. Exhales. Reaches for Cardinal’s belt. ‘We’ll be very quick.’

‘Good. Perhaps you’ll manage before I eat up the whole dinner.’ Vi turns around.

Cardinal hears a few steps to the right, then the quiet click of the closed door. He clears his throat. ‘We really should—‘

‘—hurry up? Yes, I agree. Education is important. Especially on such a backwater planet like this one.’ Armitage practically beams. He’s changed his position a little, so the moves of his hips bring real pressure and friction, now. Cardinal wonders, briefly, if for Armitage it’s like an engineering problem, if he sees the torques and the vectors. Probably. ‘Such a shame your cowardice keeps the girl here. Such a waste.’

‘My job’s paying for her—No, you mean—don’t _you dare_. She’s not going anywhere.’ Certainly not to the Order.

Armitage’s eyes are bright. Proud, so, so proud. ‘Surely it’s for her to decide…’ He trails off, his focus slipping to their opened trousers.

It’s probably an act, leaving the conversation up in the air, letting it gnaw at Cardinal’s bones. There’s viciousness in it, of course, but also a twisted hope. For all his talent for cruelty, _this_ Armitage seems to not get, perhaps not yet, perhaps not ever. Cardinal can’t let him go back to the Order any more than he can now strike him down.

For anyone outside their little ( _glorious, bright future bringing_... no, no, no, not this) military circle it’s painfully obvious that Hux is a scapegoat, the one to be killed either in some inner scheme or as proof of the Order’s goodwill towards the galaxy. He won’t be safe back there, and every damn neuron in Cardinal’s brain screams he must protect this spoiled, weak rat, getting sick from the sun, getting sick from the rain, getting sick from the snow, from a mere gust of wind. He hates him so much it hurts, but it’s just a meaningless whim. He must protect him.

The realisation makes Cardinal calm. Eerie calm. He watches—senses—Armitage curling his palms around their cocks, stroking them roughly, and is only surprised Hux bothers with pleasuring someone other than himself. Perhaps he thinks he’ll hurt Cardinal more this way. Usually, he would be right, but Cardinal’s a little too high on adrenaline to care. His own erection—ah, well, he can get over it. He can keep in check hunger, thirst, lack of sleep, pain. His hard cock really isn’t that much of a problem.

Hux murmurs some vaguely painful nonsense—“you’re doing well, good soldier, mine, mine,” some mentions of his father, fuck, he’s such a pathetic _kid_ , fuck, what if they all were…?—but the adrenaline works and they all miss their mark. Enemies will always throw offences at you. Just mute them. It’s a little harder with the general’s words, but Cardinal can analyse them in a second, decide they’re the babbling, not orders, and forget them immediately. Biding his time. Waiting for an opening, like—

—like Armitage’s ejaculation. This shuts up even him. He stares down, his gaze unfocused, and his lips already curling in disdain. So, distracted.

Cardinal grabs Hux’s neck from behind, like one does with small animals or children. Back on Order's first ships, it made Armitage still and boneless, and now, ta-fuck-damn, it works, too.

They needed to find loopholes, if they didn’t want to die in the first few weeks, killed by the whims of five-year-olds. They might have problems with reading, but they were good at surviving, so loopholes were found, most of them based on stopping whatever crazy orders Hux was throwing around long enough to get his father. And while Armitage had an absolute command over them, his father had a command over him, and could make him see reason. With or without violence.

‘It’s all right,’ Cardinal murmurs quickly, softly, softer than he’s spoken to this brat in years. ‘I just need to clean this up before Torbi returns. Please, sir, let me take care of this. Please.’ He’s already taking the cloth from the table—time’s too crucial to search for something better, but ah, Siv’ll be so irritated—and starting, indeed, to clean the mess. His own erection will be gone in a minute. No need to bother with it.

‘Are you pleased?’ he asks, when Hux starts to struggle weakly (push his face in the crook of your neck, yes, like this, he has come a moment before, he’s tired, it’ll be enough, stupid brat, he likes having servants—nannies—too much; his father was right). ‘Sir?’

Armitage puffs, a sound between “yes” and laughter, and he’s calm and pliant when Cardinal, with the efficiency of a life-long aide, makes him presentable, which is all one may ask for.

Of course, when he’s finished, Hux bites him, hard enough to draw blood, and breaks out of his hold. In doing so, he deliberately hits Cardinal’s exposed cock with his knee.

Cardinal, jerking and falling from—with—the chair, bites his lip to not curse this damn brat aloud.

‘Tsk-tsk. You’re going to destroy the furniture,’ sings Armitage. ‘Such trouble for our gracious hosts.’ He’s considerate enough to push the chair back and take the cloth—to the bathroom probably—and even through the haze of pain Cardinal’s honestly surprised. It would be his task, usually. Should be. And this way, he gets a moment to breathe deeply, let the pain dissolve in his body. Close it. Close his eyes. Close it all.

 

 

Vi doesn’t seem angry or hurt. Hux is polite and quiet. Cardinal bets Vi’s furious and Hux—disappointed. So, furious as well.

Damn. Cardinal would prefer if Armitage stopped thinking how to harm them all efficiently, because sooner or later he’ll find a way. He’s good at this.

‘You managed before it cooled down.’ Vi puts a bowl before him. ‘Bravo.’

Armitage’s eaten already. Which means he definitely didn’t eat enough, and Cardinal lets the wave of distress and guilt at this thought wash over him before he takes up his spoon.

The first bite stops in his throat and he almost retches.

Suddenly, he wishes for Brendol Hux to be alive, despite all these years here, despite Vi’s efforts, Vi’s talks, Vi’s everything. Orders from the old general would free him of these stupid, drilled-in instincts. Constant waiting for the punishment.

The next bite, he chews forever. It does nothing to help him with the nausea and his stomach clenching painfully. Perhaps he won’t eat today.

‘Did he eat at all?’

‘Armitage? He’s an adult.’ Vi shrugs. ‘He can decide if he’s hungry himself. But yes, he did.’

Cardinal would like to tell Vi so many things—in fact, he would like to scream them at Armitage, remind him what they all, Jakku’s children, did in those first years to make sure he wasn’t starving like all the others, how they blackmailed, plotted, sold bedroom-brewed alcohol and narcotics, how, at the height of the food crisis, J-124—Jaalia, fuck it all, he remembers her name—sold her own body, and she was, what, fucking thirteen? And all so this weak brat could eat relatively well, better than all others, and survive, and now, now he _dares_ to be still-thin, forever-thin and _useless_ , he dares to refuse the food put before him on the fucking table.

‘Aaaay,’ comes from the door, and Hux brightens, his features mellowing instantly.

It’s not even remotely honest and Cardinal knows it. Still, it’s a relief when Torbi runs into the kitchen, talking about her day, and the general focuses on her, and his questions are not poised to hurt. She had a test today, right? Easy one? She’s such a good, honest, hard-working girl.

‘…and my teacher was surprised I know so much about energy transformations already, you know? And I’m gonna make a presentation about the stars, you’re helping me, right? You know a lot about stars… I presume.’ Torbi’s voice gets theatrically lighter for a second and her vocabulary improves, as always when she’s not sure if she should say—know—this piece of information.

But Hux agrees with her, “A little, yes” and the conversation runs smoothly again. Torbi has a normal, healthy appetite, so Cardinal offers her his own portion.

It’s only later, when they’ve left Hux at home under Siv’s surveillance—armed with a blaster, pike, and her almost playful vindictiveness—and gone on a walk, that Vi purses her lips and says: ‘You have to be more careful, Torbi. Much more careful. It could get us in trouble. It could get us killed. You know this.’

Torbi knows surprisingly many common sense social things for a child who spent the first decade of her life on the dead planet with Siv and droids only. She learnt “normal life” quickly, much quicker than Cardinal did, in fact. Vi said it was the matter of children’s neuroplasticity.

Now, Torbi kicks a stone. Then the dirt. Once. Twice. A few times more.

‘Oh, please. What do you think I’ll do? Tell the whole class how to steal the star’s energy and use to it blow up a system or two? I’m not so stupid. I know this would make us… a point of interest for some dangerous parties.’

‘Even much less will endanger us. And they’re more than “some dangerous parties”, Torbi,’ says Cardinal, trying to sound serious but not threatening.

Vi doesn’t bother with not threatening. She stops and grabs Torbi’s shoulders tightly.

‘The whole galaxy would come for us. The whole galaxy. Nobody would be able to protect us—to protect you. Believe me. You would kill us all, do you understand? You would kill us for sure.’

There’s a moment of heavy silence. Cardinal tries not to feel guilty. Fails. He brought this little venomous rat to their door, did he not?

‘Is it really so high?’

‘Is what so high, Torbi?’

‘The reward for him.’

Vi sighs. ‘If one could collect the money from all interested parties, it would be enough to buy oneself a nice, comfy system in the Outer Rim. So yes, yes, it is.’

The girl kicks the ground again. The dust dirties Vi’s trousers.

‘Why won’t _we_ snitch him, then? After my presentation, that is.’

For a second, Cardinal can’t hear anything over the beating of his heart. The adrenaline rushes to his veins—he literally feels it, the dizziness in his head, the abnormal sharpness of his vision. His hands are trembling and he curls them into fists.

‘Cardinal’s a mercenary and—you think I don’t know what it means? You think I don’t know what he did to you? Our home isn’t so huge and I have ears, and a working brain, you know? He’s a murderer and a torturer, and you, you too, you were a spy for the princess, and I bet you killed people as well, and you all have a _conscience_ all of sudden? And for who, for him? Oh please, I don’t care about some Core worlds,’ the way she speaks it, they might as well be fairy tales, ‘but he’s not an innocent family indebted to the cartels—and I’m sure you collected the money for families like that, too!’

‘Enough. Not so loudly.’

Torbi is a threat—no. No. He had done so well in those past years. The general likes Torbi. Breathe in. He would not want her hurt. Breathe out. He would not want her hurt. Breathe in. He would order him not to. He would.

‘We won’t. We can’t. It’s final, Torbi. I’ll explain everything to you, all right? You’re right, you’re not a kid anymore, you have the right to understand.’ Vi shoots a glance at Cardinal. ‘Just not here, all right? In private. C.,’—she refused to call him “Cardinal”, and in return, he refused to tell her his family name—‘you’ll stay here.’

He nods. He absolutely won’t stay here, not when Torbi is planning to hurt—to do something stupid—but following them will be easier if Vi doesn’t suspect him… too much. So he’s waiting, watching them both walking into the sunset, and then, narrowing his eyes, he realises suddenly why Vi chose this direction.

Realisation is half a second late. He tries to dodge, but the stun bolt hits his arm.

 

 

‘I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault, I’m sorry, I didn’t want—’

‘He’ll be all right. Don’t cry, honey.’

He opens his eyes slowly. The training kicks in and he rolls on his side, in case of sudden nausea.

Torbi immediately throws herself at him, almost breaking his neck with her enthusiastic hug. Her face really is wet from tears.

‘I ain’t gonna rat. I ain’t gonna rat on Armitage. On nobody. I am not going to inform authorities about Armitage or anyone else,’ she promises solemnly, her voice still a little shaky. ‘I’ll listen to you and Vi, and mother, always. I was just joking. And angry. I didn’t understand. But I do, now! Please, I won’t do it again, I swear, just don’t—’ She glances at Vi, and stops abruptly, just sobs on Cardinal’s neck.

He wonders what Vi did to convince her. Put a blaster to his head and asked her to choose, probably.

He supposes he should be grateful to Torbi. She’s such a good girl, indeed. They don’t deserve her, he thinks, sitting up slowly, putting his arms around her, embracing her, smelling the sand, sweat and salt.

When they come back home, Hux is supposedly sleeping in his room and Siv is reading—she always reads, like she can never have enough of this ability—curled on _this damn_ chair. She smiles at Torbi and asks Vi if they were starving that _poor_ (that delight in her voice!) man, for he wolfed down thrice the normal portion for supper.

**Author's Note:**

> (I might make it into a collection for more explicit SW ST one-shots later. you have been warned)
> 
> Author's rambling, for those of you who like such things: I had problems with the style of original book and therefore didn't even try to make it similar here and this is my own biggest issue with this fic - I feel like, despite my honest attempts at constructing the characters' voices after a few (resocialisation-full ;)) years, I wasn't able to grasp them. And without the whole great AU/future fix-it fic it sorta floats in the empty background and is pretty groundless, which means: OOC. But oh well, so is a big chunk of fanfiction and I've written enough of the as-much-IC-as-it's-possible twisted niche fics for my own pleasure in the past to not worry too much now. So I'll have one when I didn't try so hard and focused on my pleasure only. Not a big deal.
> 
> There's the freedom of writing niche things.


End file.
